


A Workable Solution

by Igerna



Category: Holby City
Genre: Christmas, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igerna/pseuds/Igerna
Summary: Three years after her return to Nairobi, Bernie finds a workable solution.





	A Workable Solution

**Author's Note:**

> So this began life as a long term fix-it for the mess that is canon, but morphed into also being a bit Christmassy somewhere along the line. Blame the mulled wine. 
> 
> With thanks as always to the fantastic @ddagent for her super-editing skills, and reminding me that lengthy paragraphs of dialogue are probably not a good idea...

As it turns out, they are even worse at being separated than they are at being together. 

They start with good intentions. After the wedding, Bernie returns to Nairobi and buries herself in work. For three weeks, the only exchange between them is a quick ‘Merry Christmas’ text on the 25th December. But then, in the New Year, she receives a phone call in the early hours from a barely coherent Serena, so distraught in the wake of Greta’s accident that the only thing that stops Bernie jumping in a taxi to the airport is that half her staff are down with a stomach bug and the centre literally can't run without her. So instead she listens; wishing she could enfold Serena in her arms; railing at a non-existent supreme being for foisting such endless cruelty upon someone so undeserving. 

In March, a multi-vehicle RTC results in 43 casualties; with the 6 fatalities including a nine month old baby girl. As Bernie tries and fails to resuscitate her, she's haunted by the photograph Jason had sent her of Guinevere only hours before. When, after 27 exhausting hours on shift, she crawls into her flat and downs half a bottle of whisky, it's Serena she calls; Serena whose voice she needs to hear; Serena who she needs to reassure her that she did absolutely everything she could. 

Three months later, she finds herself in England again, attending Charlotte’s graduation. She watches the ceremony, has photographs taken with Charlotte and endures a slightly tense lunch in hall at Charlotte’s college with Lottie and Marcus. Then Charlotte heads off to celebrate with her friends; Marcus leaves to get back for an on-call shift and Bernie is alone in her hotel room. The urge to see Serena is overwhelming. On impulse, she texts her. 

_I’m in Oxford for the weekend. Staying at the Randolph. It would be lovely to see you._

Within minutes Serena texts back. _I’ll be there at 8. Let me know your room number._

The weekend is wonderful but all too brief. On the Monday morning, Serena kisses a sleepy Bernie goodbye and leaves without a backward glance. 

Shortly before the following Christmas, Bernie receives an email, subject line: _Holiday plans_. Serena explains, with characteristic sardonic humour, that Hanssen has berated her for her failure to take annual leave in the previous twelve months and has ordered her to spend the first two weeks of January Anywhere But Holby. She's booked a hotel in Cape Town. Bernie calls her boss and tells him she needs a week’s leave. 

They fall into a pattern. When circumstances allow - a holiday, Bernie visiting England, a conference of mutual interest - they spend time together; enjoy one another's company. They make no promises. They enjoy the moment. Neither of them has any expectation that it is more than it purports to be. 

They don't talk much, between visits. Flowers on birthdays and emails to acknowledge professional achievements: Serena’s grant for research into vein graft techniques; Bernie’s paper on triage in mass casualty traumas. Occasionally there's a text: a photograph of a glass of whisky; a string of expletives followed by the name ‘Ric Griffin’. But they don't talk, not properly. They don't exchange news of relatives, or talk over the mundanity of the day. Bernie doesn't tell Serena she loves her. It's not a relationship; nothing like. But it's not separation either. They're in limbo; unable to move on but unwilling to let go. 

She knows Serena sees other women. Cameron is still at Holby; doing core training in surgery and based on AAU. He talks about Serena as he talks about everyone he works with, but sometimes weeks will go by without his mentioning Serena's name; and she knows. 

There are other women for her too of course. Attractive women; clever women; interesting women. But it's never serious. How could she be serious about someone when Serena Campbell will always hold her heart?

Three years after the opening of the trauma centre in Nairobi, Bernie is growing restless. The centre is practically running itself these days. She does her shifts, same as any other doctor. And, yes, the work is demanding; the medicine sometimes difficult. But the challenge of the thing is over, subsumed in the everyday. She needs a new project. And Nairobi, warm and vibrant though it is, has never come to feel like home. Without Serena, it never could. She needs to decide upon the next step; make her mind up about what she wants from her life. 

Six weeks later, she receives a letter from Cameron. A single sheet of paper, torn from the vacancies section of _The Lancet_. One of the advertisements has been circled in red. Above it, in his still juvenile looking scrawl, is written: ‘Would this be a workable solution?’ 

***  
It's grey in Geneva. Cold and windy; a stark contrast to the warm African sun. But no matter: she hadn't come for the weather. 

Bernie hasn't planned this next part. Hasn't allowed herself to think past this first hurdle. But now it has been cleared, she needs to think how to proceed. She phones Cameron; checks Serena's schedule. She can't go to the house; she hasn't set foot there, not since they separated. 

The plane to Heathrow is delayed. Her own fault, she supposes, for travelling on Christmas Eve. She gazes out at wet tarmac; wonders how she'll be received; wishes she could have a cigarette. 

***  
Bernie sneaks into the ward ten minutes before the shift change, when she knows Serena has nearly finished for the day. The desk in the ward is decorated for Christmas; festooned with tinsel and bearing a tiny tree. Serena is sat beside it; her head bent over a pile of paperwork. Bernie drinks in the sight of her; she hasn't seen Serena for nearly eight months. She skirts around the desk; approaches Serena from behind; covers her eyes with her hands, as she had done on that other day, so long ago.

Serena’s hands come up to cover Bernie’s. She spins her chair around and for a split second, Bernie sees Serena’s joy at her presence, before she tamps it down. It's enough. Bernie pulls her into a hug, allows her arms to wrap around Serena’s back; feels Serena relax into the embrace and bury her nose in Bernie’s hair. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, when at last they pull apart. Her expression is two parts confusion; one part caution. 

“I need to talk to you. I'll wait in the office while you finish up.” 

Bernie had thought about the location of this conversation; thought about taking Serena for a drink- somewhere quiet, away from the hospital. But it seems right, somehow, that it take place in the consultants’ office in AAU; the scene of so many defining moments in the course of their relationship. 

She sinks onto the sofa; remembers the last time she was here, when Serena had confessed her infidelity and waited, guilt ridden, for remonstrations which never came. She has replayed that conversation, and the one which came afterwards, at Albie’s, so many times in the three years which have elapsed. What she should have said; what she should not have said. 

It's not long before Serena appears in the doorway, trepidation evident in her features. 

“Come and sit down.” 

Serena sits next to Bernie on the sofa. Close enough that their knees touch. They'd never been any good at maintaining personal space in the other’s presence.

“Why are you here, Bernie?” 

She can’t fault Serena her wariness. This isn't how they do things; not anymore. They don't turn up unannounced; they don't intrude on the other’s turf. She’d be wary too, in Serena’s shoes. An explanation is in order; short and to the point. 

“I had a job interview this morning.” 

Serena nods; quirks an eyebrow. “What's the job?”

“Project co-ordinator for _Medicin Sans Frontiers._ They want someone with extensive experience in conflict zones.”

Serena is impassive. Bernie ploughs on. “I’d lead projects overseas; co-ordinate the medical care over there; for three to four months of the year. In between, I'd be nominally based at their headquarters in Geneva, but I'd only have to be there for a couple of days every other month. The rest of the time…well, it's up to me. I can work from anywhere. And it's not full time; I'd need to keep a part time clinical post to keep my skills up.”

Serena has listened to this in absolute silence. She forces a smile now. “That sounds perfect for you.” 

“I was hoping it might be perfect for us.” Her voice shakes as she says it. She reaches out; takes Serena’s hands; tangles their fingers together. She knows she needs to make herself clear. “Serena, I miss you. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to build a life with you.”

Once again, Bernie sees a brief flicker of joy - of hope - before Serena’s face hardens. When she speaks, there is ice in her tone. “I thought you said that we couldn’t be together – however much we might love each other.”

Bernie curses herself for the ridiculous statement she had made three years ago. Why had she let herself hide behind words she knew to be a lie? So terrified of being unable to be what Serena wanted –needed – that abandoning the relationship altogether seemed a preferable solution. “No, Serena. I just couldn’t bear the thought of making you unhappy. Look how things turned out with Marcus. I have no frame of reference for domestic harmony.”

“You think I do? Edward was hardly an ideal husband.” Serena lets out a derisive snort. 

Bernie bows her head in acknowledgement. It’s true that neither of them have a great track record at relationships. Perhaps that’s why they’re both so scared of them. “I was running away. And I needed to be where I was needed; where I was doing the most good.”

Serena nods. “I know; it’s who you are.” 

It would have been so much easier, in so many ways, if Serena had been less understanding. If she had ranted and railed, and protested, like Marcus had. But she had understood - had always understood - that the work is a fundamental part of Bernie. Serena had never expected Bernie to sacrifice herself for her own needs; she’d sent her away instead. 

Serena focuses on their joined hands. “So what's changed?”

“Me. _I've_ changed. I’ve spent the last three years trying to live without you and I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to be here, with you, in Holby.”

Serena simply stares at her. Bernie is suddenly filled with doubt; with the thought that maybe Serena doesn't want this as much as she does. That maybe Serena is perfectly happy with the way things are. She curses herself for jumping in with both feet; for once again making decisions for both of them. Her heart sinks. 

“But maybe that’s not what you want. Maybe _I’m_ not what you want.”. Years ago, in Albie’s, Serena had said she couldn’t picture the two of them coming home from work together; that that image of Bernie was not the person she’d fallen in love with. At the time, Bernie had taken it to mean that she - _Bernie_ \- wouldn’t be happy with that. But maybe Serena had meant herself. Bernie suddenly tugs her hands away, certain that she has misread the situation. “I'm sorry, I presumed too much.” She rises to her feet, turns towards the door, reaching for the handle.

Serena’s hand closes over hers on the door handle, stilling her exit. “Of course it's what I want! I want nothing more. But I couldn’t let you give it up for me. Not then. Not after-”

Bernie shifts her gaze from the floor to Serena’s eyes, wet with guilt and regret. Her gut clenches at the reminder of Serena’s infidelity; it still hurts, for all she had understood. Would Serena have been so quick to suggest that Bernie leave, if Leah Faulkner had never set foot in Holby City Hospital? Would they have stayed together, if Serena had not been so convinced she was undeserving of Bernie’s love and devotion? 

“You made a mistake; we’ve both made lots of mistakes. I'm sure we’ll make more.” Bernie grips tightly onto Serena's hand. “But we didn't split up because we don't love one another or want to be together. We split up because we both had other needs; other responsibilities that required us to be in different places. But now— now that's changed. Now, I can—”

“—have your cake and eat it too?” Serena's voice is amused, gently teasing. 

“Well why not? If I can. If _we_ can. Why _not_?” Bernie blusters on, keen to make Serena hear her point; willing to do whatever is necessary for Serena to agree. “We don't have to rush anything. I don't need to work here, necessarily. There’s always St James’—”

Serena shakes her head, smiling. “That won’t be necessary. I love working with you.” 

“Ok. Well, presuming Henrik agrees then I’ll find a flat and—” 

“That _definitely_ won't be necessary.” The shake of the head is more vehement this time; the smile more amused. 

“It won’t?”

“No.” Serena loops her arms around Bernie’s neck. “Of course it won't. If we’re going to do this – at long last – then I want to wake up with you in the morning and fall asleep with you at night.”

Heart hammering, Bernie’s hands slide to Serena’s waist. “So, is that a ‘yes’?” 

Serena toys with a lock of Bernie’s hair, making extensive pretence at consideration. “I could be persuaded to give you a trial period.” 

“Oh, could you?” She pulls Serena closer, pressing their bodies together. She hadn’t allowed herself to imagine this moment; the euphoria of holding Serena in the knowledge that they have the rest of their lives, rather than a few hours. “And on what does the success of the trial fall to be judged?”

Serena smirks wickedly at her. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

They stare at each other, both grinning like fools. _How did I ever manage to give this up? How did I think I could forgo the possibility of having this every day?_

In the pocket of Bernie’s coat, her mobile bleeps. Inwardly, she curses the phone for compelling her to release her hold on Serena. Now that she finally has her, she never wants to let her go. “Sorry,” she says, pulling the phone free. 

A text from Cameron. _Look up_. 

Puzzled, she does so; Serena’s gaze following her own. 

_Mistletoe._

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Bernie is torn between exasperation and amusement. 

“Well, I didn't put it there.” 

Bernie, smiles, returning her phone to her coat pocket. “No, I suspect my son was responsible for that.” She looks through the glass door. From the other side of the ward, Cameron and Jason wave at her. “I'm so sorry.” 

“Well, it looks like he had some assistance. And I'm sure it was well intentioned.”

Bernie brings a hand up to cup Serena’s neck, sliding up a thumb to rub it along her jaw. “Seems a shame to miss the opportunity, given that it's been so thoughtfully provided.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Serena’s fingers are in her hair again, her nose nuzzling at Bernie’s cheek. Bernie dips her head just a fraction, bringing her lips to Serena’s. As she does so, she reaches for the cord to close the blinds. 

They've shared many kisses in this office. Kisses of relief; of passion; of greeting. But _this_ kiss, under the mistletoe, on Christmas Eve; _this_ kiss has the promise of forever.


End file.
